


Fourteen

by witchway



Series: The Thing That Lives Under The Bed [2]
Category: Iron Man (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Demon!Tony, Eventual Happy Ending, Happy Ending, Kid Peter Parker, M/M, Precious Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:27:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25189426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchway/pseuds/witchway
Summary: WARNING: The Thing That Lives Under The Bed is, overall, a "Snugglefic."It is about scary things that go bump in the night.It is about things that you were taught your whole life were normal, but were really, REALLY monstrous.It is about things that you were taught your whole life were monstrous, but weren't really quite as scary as you thought.This is a story about a young boy and an ancient spirit.But overall, this is the story is about words, about learning, about growing.And snuggling. Remember, The Thing That Lives Under The Bed is about snuggling.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark, Tony Stark/Peter Parker
Series: The Thing That Lives Under The Bed [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1823884
Comments: 13
Kudos: 108





	Fourteen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mrstarksbaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrstarksbaby/gifts).



> This has ALL been due to the art of one person -- known as @starker-sorbet on Tumblr.
> 
> Thank you for your art. But there was a quarantine on - and a lockdown - and I sort of (ooops) wrote 80,000 words about it.

##  **_Fourteen_ **

_“Iniquitous malicious malevolent villainous poison rancor…”_ came the voice from beneath Peter’s bed. Peter held his breath, trying to remain completely silent. Tonight voice was throaty and deep and difficult to hear in the storm.

Peter wanted to hear.

Sometimes, when he listened closely, he learned new words.

_“…stain, verseuchen, traduce... vituperate malign, curse, maldição, outcast…”_

“’Vituperate’ is a good word. What does that word mean? Does it mean the same as ‘malign?’ Who is the outcast, are you the outcast?”

And just like that, the voice was gone. Peter was disappointed. He was certain, as soon as the storm came in, that he would get to talk to the voice tonight. Stormy nights were the best for that. He fell asleep, crestfallen.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Maybe the trick was to not ask personal questions, at least not at first? It seemed like the first time he talked to the thing that lived under the bed, they had talked for quite some time. Why was it different? What had changed? How could he make it happen again? (Of course, that had also been a dream. A nice dream. The best dream he had ever had. A dream that Peter went to bed almost every night, now, wishing he could have again.)

_“Sunless, benighted, crepuscular..."_

Tonight the voice was low and throaty again, and easy to hear in the silent room. The entire house was silent - May and Ben had gone to run an errand and Peter had insisted on staying home. Ang it was worth it. Right at his bedtime, the voice started speaking. And the voice was speaking very clearly tonight.

_"...stygian, sombrio, unlit, unlighted…”_

“Dark! Yes! Yes, it IS dark. Do you like it dark?” Peter whispered. He always spoke gently to the voice, who always spoke so gently to him.

There was a long pause. 

“I know that ‘stygian’ means ‘like the river Styx.’ Is the River Styx very dark? Have you… I mean… I wish I could see it. I don’t know anything about it. It must be very beautiful. Is it very beautiful?

He knew the voice would probably go away then. As quietly as he could he moved his body until his chin was just over the side of the bed. He wasn’t going to see the voice, of course, just as the voice would stop talking to him…

“ _Athirst_ …” it said.

Peter’s eyes went wide, but he stayed very still and very quiet.

“ _Amorous… desiring… ânsia… longing… eager…_ ”

“For, what? For darkness? Do you want… are you desiring more darkness?”

The silence stretched out for so long Peter almost fell asleep before he heard the words. “ _More. Darkness_.”

Peter sat up and looked around the room. But there was no way to make more darkness, every light was out as well as the lights in the hall (Peter had turned them out for that very reason.) The only lights came from the porchlight that could be seen through his window…

“I can! I can do that! Don’t leave please, I’ll make more darkness!” he whispered excitedly. He jerked the curtains closed, but the lights from the front porch still shone through. After some thought he hauled the blanket off his bed and threw it over the curtain until the window was covered completely. 

“Don’t leave!” He said as he cleared off the top of one bookshelf, hoping that by climbing on it he could reach the curtain rod. “I can make more darkness! This room used to be _so_ much darker, I know that. There was no windows in this room once and also there was a horse stall on the other side of this wall…” he continued as he coaxed the blanket to cover the window. He knew a great deal about the house he had moved into, and absolutely no one to show it off to. Ben and May were the only ones he ever talked to, and they knew this all already.

“...and that’s why the modern window is here. It’s not original to the house, so this room used to be much darker, but I can make it darker. _There_.”

“Is that better?” he whispered in the complete darkness, breathless.

There was no answer. He knew there would be no answer. That was too much noise, too much movement. The voice _always_ went away when there was too much of one or the other.

Which is why he started so badly when he heard the voice call his name.

“…y-yes?” he whispered, his mouth completely dry. 

He wasn’t afraid. If he was afraid, he could just climb under the covers. Alright, the cover was now over the window, but there was still sheets. The sheets counted as ‘covers.’ His whole life, he had known that covers kept him safe. Even Aunt May said so. Covers, she promised, could keep _anyone_ safe from _anything_. Even the thing that lived under the bed.

But he _wasn’t_ going under the covers now. Because the thing that lived under the bed had called his name. There was only one other time that the voice had called his name, and that was in the dream. The dream where he had seen it. Seen its dark eyes, its lean form, its long hands. It had been a special dream. The dream he couldn’t really think about around other people, he had to be alone. It was a private dream.

“ _Lightless…_ ”

Blindly Peter found his way back onto the bed. He held his breath.

_“...sombria... sombrio…”_

Peter held his breath until his lungs ached. Sometimes the thing that lived under the bed said things in different languages, but Peter could never find out what that language was, and the thing that lived under the bed couldn’t tell him. Neither could anyone at school. At Robert E. Lee K-12 they believed that everyone should speak English.

“ _Nightfall, lightless, gloom, sombria, blackness_ …”

“You like the dark?” Peter whispered finally. Silently crept his body back to his original position with his chin just over the bed. He wouldn’t be able to see the figure, now. Oh, how he hoped he could see it again. “I can keep it dark.

“Do you like the dark, or do you _not_ like the light? I’ll keep the light out if you want me to. I want to talk to you. Do you like it?”

“... _like_ ... _desirous…”_

“Yes… you like it. That’s what desirous means.” Peter grinned in the darkness. He loved solving puzzles. 

_“Appetent, breathless, fervid, solitário, desirous…”_

“What else do you like? Why do you come here? This is my bedroom. I have a bedroom, a library and an office just like my dad used to. And the bedroom across to me is the storage room because it’s too ugly to be anything else. But I have an office just like an adult. And my own library because libraries are my favorite. And this house used to have a _huge_ library and even a chapel that was famous but it’s all gone now. But I’ll have a library that’s just for me in one of the bedrooms. This is called a “wing.” Because _all_ these bedrooms in this hallway are mine now. But this bedroom is my bedroom. It used to be Evan Posts’ bedroom. He liked it at the end of the hall because he liked to be alone. I like to be alone too...” 

Silence. For a moment, Peter realized how very, very alone he was. 

“Ben and May sleep all the way on the other side of the house…” he said, looking back at the covers. Maybe it was time to hide under covers. Somehow the silence was becoming too much. “... because that’s the big bedroom. That’s called the “Master” bedroom. But “Master” just means big, “Master” doesn’t mean “The boss who tells everybody what to do.” But it also doesn’t mean “Master” like “the bedroom with the bathroom attached.” It _really_ means the bedroom of the boss because that’s where the Grandma and Grandpa would sleep, or the great-Grandpa and the great-Grandma. There used to be a whole family here, of grandparents and aunts and uncles and all the cousins and grandkids. That’s what ‘multigenerational’ means.”

Silence. Peter frowned. Sometimes, especially when he had too much information in his head, he talked too much. In New York City it didn't matter, there were so _many_ people to talk to. Not in Devil’s Holler. 

Sighing in frustration, Peter dropped down his arm and let his fingers brush over the floor, hoping.

_“Perfervid…”_

“Perfer… what? What does that word mean?”

_“Perfervid... longing… ardent… languishing.”_

“Yes? Keep talking. Tell me more.”

_" ...fervid, desirous. Longing. Wishing.”_

“Wishing? For what? What are you longing for?”

“... _Peter_ …”

**Author's Note:**

> This is me on Tumblr:
> 
> https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thestarkerisobvious
> 
> Come by and say long lists of synonyms, the more obscure the better...


End file.
